Bridging the Gap
by isansa
Summary: Jesse Tuck returns to Tree Gap to find his great friend aged. But before he leaves he will find the legacy she left behind, just as she left it. Jesse/OC
1. One Hundred Years

The roads had been paved and painted, and widened to accommodate the new vehicles of the century. Buildings had been demolished and much of the wood had been torn up to make room for the growing population and modern businesses and homes, and the new school and gas station. The Foster home had not changed much in the one-hundred or so years of its existence. Now the homestead was abuzz with the makings of a wedding. In one week's time the youngest Foster would be married.

White roses were being carried from a pink painted van up the hollow steps of the little white house on the day Jesse Tuck returned to Tree Gap. He stood blocked by the old spear-topped fence, gazing in past the steel bars. A young woman in a vibrant blue blouse was skittering across the lawn, all up in a tizzy. The boy, for that is what he appeared to be, turned a weathered eye to the granite stone at his feet. His sleeve caught on the fence, his fingertips just close enough to brush against the warm headstone of his childhood friend. She had passed at the ripe age of one-hundred, two years prior. He had come for her, after so many years.

A screech of glee brought Jesse back to reality and he pulled away from the stone and the fence. He crossed the two-lane street to the parking meter where a motorcycle stood, his motorcycle. He kicked a leg over the seat and started the ignition, just to take off in what seemed a blur. He had not wanted his eyes to linger on the silhouette of the stone, and neither had he felt someone else's gaze on him. A pair of eyes he would know.

She sat at a window seat in the local ice cream parlor, sucking on her red plastic spoon. Her eyes scoured his features; she was sure he was the same as the sketches Winifred Foster had played with all her life. He was the same boy Winnie had told stories of right up until her death. The girl smacked her lips and tossed her garbage away. No matter how big the town's boundaries were, the population had never soared. It wouldn't take much to find ol' Jesse Tuck.

The Tuck family had not returned to Tree Gap in over ninety years; Jesse was the first. After Mae killed the man in the yellow suit, Winnie had helped Jesse, Tuck, and Miles break her out of the new jailhouse. The Tucks had found it high time to make themselves scarce. The family made their way to the West, particularly to the eastern region of Montana. They now lived on a Native American reservation, where they were neither exploited or hidden. The tribes there had heard of such curses as the Tucks', but had no cure for the white man's ailment. There was peace there.

Jesse had always been a restless traveler, however, and had spent many days and nights on the road seeing all walks of life across the country; he had taken note of beautiful places he would take Winnie one day, even if she'd been there before. But Winifred Foster had been a worldly girl; she had married, was a mother, and a grandmother, and had seen much in her lifetime, but she had not sipped from the spring. She had not been stuck as the Tucks were. Winnie had lived to her full extent. Jesse had loved her, did love her, but Winnie Jackson had not loved him.


	2. Michelle

The crisp Spring air had rushed up in a breeze in the early afternoon. Jesse sat at the cool diner bar, munching away on a hamburger and seasoned french-fries. The diner walls were lined with black and white checked border, and matching tiles littered the floor. The vinyl seats of the booths and bar stools were bright red, and the table tops a dark gray. The man in charge was portly and balding and quite one up for conversation. The sound of a little tinkering bell rang and banged against the glass of the entrance door. The cook glanced up from the register and smiled and bellowed, "Well, if it ain't Miss Foster-Jackson!"

Jesse Tuck glanced up at the familiar name, eyeing the girl as she approached the counter. He couldn't help but notice how blue her eyes were and how wide her smile was. There was no doubt she was a Foster. He turned back to his plate as she slumped down on to a stool two seats away, looking rather tired and in need of a hearty meal.

"Hey Walter. This wedding is giving me a headache, so if you wouldn't mind." she held her index finger and thumb just so apart.

The man smiled again, "Of course, those Foster weddings are always spectacular. I'm sure you've got a handle on everythin' though."

She laughed, "Yeah. I'm starting to think it was never a good idea to let the girl date. At this rate she'll dry out her trust fund before she's twenty-five," she sighed, "I'll just have the usual: well done, no onions, please."

Walter nodded bustled back into the kitchen, leaving Jesse sitting alone with Michelle Foster-Jackson. His eyes were itching to look at her, but he already knew she was staring at him. He chewed along on his meal, trying his hardest not to notice the feeling of his head exploding from her intense look. The feeling grew to a tight knot in the back of his throat and he finally glanced to his left where she sat. He stopped chewing, with a bulge of meat and bread in his cheek. Walter started singing an out of key country-western song.

"You look familiar." she spoke. Her voice sounded like dry leaves.

Jesse gulped, and snorted a laugh, "A lot of people tell me that."

"Are you here for the wedding?" she turned her body so she was facing him completely.

"Uh... no. Just visiting an old friend." he wiped a blot of mustard from his bottom lip.

"Winnie Foster?"

Jesse jumped in his seat when a humming Walter burst from the kitchen with a plate of food in hand. Jesse stood and pulled his wallet from his back pocket and placed a few bills on the counter. He quickly went to leave, only to be caught just above his leatherbound elbow.

"You should come by and see her. She's been waiting a long time, you know."

She let go and Jesse fled the diner. She watched him ride off on his red plated motorcycle. He would show at some point; he knew she knew about him and Winnie. He wouldn't run. Not the Jesse Tuck she knew. Not many knew about the Victorian Tree Gap incident, or about the Tuck family at all, or just how they were related to the Foster clan.

Walter took up the wrinkled bills and stacked them, "He's new around here. Quite an interesting little guy; says he ain't familiar with the place. Says he ain't one to stick around places for long. Calls himself Tuck. You're granny didn't happen to know that name did she?"

Michelle looked from the graying sky to the shining man before her, "Not a peep."


	3. Sketches

The evening hadn't let up the breeze of the earlier day, but it had cooled considerably. The currents tugged at Jesse's dark hair and the hems of his clothes. The top button of his shirt flopped as he walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, head down. The streets were different and several times he had found himself lost in the maze of residential streets. There were so many people there now. His heels pounded down on the concrete walkway. As he got closer to the little white house, he could smell the trees and dirt he had once known so very well. Now the scent of roses filled the air. His nostrils flared as they all hit.

He neared the house where music and laughter could be heard from the street. Beneath the dim street lamp ahead sat a bench looking on to the lawn. Jesse scuffed to a stop and sat on the green painted wood. It was the Fosters' outdoor dinner. Across the lit grass ran children playing games in their dresses and trousers. Jesse leant his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his hands. He was beginning to wonder why he had resurfaced the memories of Tree Gap, and why exactly he had come back. He had only ever had the faint hope of Winnie having drank from the spring. He always knew she never would. She was just a child.

"Are you feeling alright?"

The same rustle of leaves. Jesse lifted his chin to see the brunette girl standing in front of him; she couldn't be more than eighteen. His hands pressed to his temples before sliding down to his lap. She was smiling at him for some odd reason.

"You're really a Foster?" he asked.

Michelle nodded and smiled, her hands on her hips. She cocked her head to the side and stared at him with a crooked smile, "You really a Tuck?"

He nodded. She straightened up and seated herself silently next to him. He kept forward, looking to the house. Michelle watched him with her hands in her lap. She adverted her eyes to the house as well and finally spoke, "Would you like to come in?"

Jesse Tuck had only once before crossed the iron fence of the touch-me-not home, and it had only been to say goodbye. The gate did not creak like he expected, and the latch had not rusted either. The path to the house was made of flat stones laid in the green grass. Children twirled about him as he followed Michelle to the door, smiling and giggling. As they approached the porch, Jesse let his eyes wander to the far left window, which had been Winnie's room. A tug on his wrist pulled him to the view of a little blond girl at his feet. She smiled and pulled on his sleeve once more, begging him to follow her.

Inside the house was stuffy, almost musty in scent. The little girl pulled him past groups of adults in polo shirts and khaki slacks, and a small table of toddlers in highchairs spilling their food across their faces. The blond girl giggled and let go of his wrist to run along side with a cousin. Jesse turned full circle looking for his guide, but was instead met by Michelle with two glasses in her hand. One for him and the other for herself. He took the glass; she smiled in the noise and took his hand in her's. She led him to a quieter hallway in the home, one lined with photos and paintings of the generations of the Foster and Jackson families. Michelle's footsteps made no sound on the wooden boards as she walked. She did glanced over her shoulder at his mesmerized face and smiled. No one had really seemed to notice the two had slipped away.

"That's Emile Jackson: Winnie's husband." she nodded to a black and white photo of a young couple. The man was tall with a strong jaw, slicked black hair, and a grin as bright as could be. Winnie was just as round faced as she had been when Jesse had known her, though her hair was short and curled, and her lips were tinged in color. He took a sip from his glass and grimaced at the bitter taste of the tea.

The frames were dusty and worn pale with age. There were several pictures of Winnie's two sons. Both were in the military during the Second World War. Michelle said the youngest had died in France. Jesse ran a finger across the glass of a photo at the end of the hall depicting a girl who looked quite a lot like Michelle. Possibly from the late 1980s. Michelle drained her glass and bumped her shoulder into Jesse's, "That's my mom. I was named after her, you know."

"You could be sisters."

She hummed a laugh, "You just don't know what else to say."

This brought a smile to his lips. Michelle sat down her glass on the hall table next to a land-line and pulled Jesse through a narrow door. Once inside the dark room she loosened her hand from his and left him by the door. The bedroom was frilled in white lace and dark wood. A window seat was bathed in the blue light of the moon. Jesse set his glass on a shoulder height dresser and scanned the room for Michelle. She was sitting on the floor just under the window, pulling a book from a shelf. She glanced up at him, her eyes shining in the light, and motioned for him to come sit. As he did she opened the book. Its pages were yellowed at the edges and it smelled just as old as it felt. Graphite strokes rounded into eyes and noses, creating faces of several people Jesse had met before.

"That's you," she pointed to the long haired face in the middle of the page, "Most of this one is you. Once you left she went on a trip to Paris and picked up the art. She's been sketching ever since. I'm pretty sure you were her favorite."

Michelle passed Jesse the book and sat back to watch his reactions to the faces. His eyes moved over the canvas just as smoothly as his fingers. The way he pressed the paper and smoothed away wrinkles from the faces with such desire. She curled her knees to her chest and rested her chin atop her forearms. The room was quiet despite the proximity to the loud banquet not but ten feet of hallway away. A small smile crept on to her face as Jesse's own lips parted in joy.


	4. Sweat Over The Town

When the grandfather clock in the entryway chimed eleven and most of the children and been escorted back to their beds at the local inn, Jesse decided to leave. Michelle insisted he take a plate of leftovers, it was the least she could do for such a friend of her great grandmother. So there sat Jesse on the stiff backed loveseat in the living area, curling his fingers against the striped rosy fabric. He listen to the silence broken by Michelle dishing out spoonfuls of casserole and macaroni on a plate. A scratching sound came from the corner of the room, a woman clearing her throat. She was the same woman that had been in the blue blouse the day before. Jesse smiled politely. She was young, but he was younger to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." she said.

"Uh, Jesse." He wasn't quite sure if his surname would be readily welcomed, considering how well it seemed Michelle knew about the Tucks.

The woman smiled as if to say she'd expected more, "Well, that's a nice name. I'm Claire. I'm getting married in a week. Are you a friend of Danny's?"

Before Jesse could come up with an elaborate answer Michelle came into the room with a china plate wrapped in foil. She handed the plate to Jesse and scoffed at Claire, "Don't interrogate my guest, Claire. He's done nothing to you."

"Your guest? Well, Michelle. I didn't think you dated. He's cute too." the red haired young woman winked at Jesse and took a sip of her drink, leaning just so on the arm of her chair.

"I-I'm not her, her date." Jesse stuttered.

Michelle pushed at Jesse's shoulder, moving him from the loveseat to the hallway, "See, he's not anything of the like. Besides, you're an engaged woman."

Jesse could hear Claire laughing as Michelle pushed him on down the hall to the front door of the small house. Holding the plate in both hands Jesse walked quietly next to Michelle. She was only a few inches shorter than he, even in the ankle boots she wore with her skirt. Crickets had begun to cry and the wind had died down to fall as a muggy mask of sweat over the town. A single car rolled down the street. The gate appeared more quickly than he had hoped. The blue eyed girl reluctantly flipped the latch on the gate, but stopped before pulling it open. Her hand lingered on the handle.

"Are you sticking around for a while, Jesse?"

"I haven't been back in a while, so probably for a little bit." he shifted the warm bottomed plate in his hands. He couldn't keep his eyes on her's.

"Come back tomorrow morning. Around seven?" she pulled open the gate wide enough for him to walk through. As he passed through the opening he nodded.

"Yeah. Um, thanks for the food." he waved and went on his way down the middle of the street, off in the direction of the inn.

Michelle watched him as he disappeared. He hadn't mentioned seeing Winnie after he had come in. She was a distraction. She locked the gate back up and tucked her hair behind her ears. Following a worn path in the grass to a plot just behind a tall rosebush, she hummed a tune Winnie had sang to her as a child. She had called it an elf song. Michelle pushed back a limb of the plant and kneeled down into the grass. The granite plaque was etched with numbers and letters; that was all Winnie would be in the years to come. A simple statistic. She finished the light tune and dazed in thought. She lifted her eyes to the grave marker.

"He's going to ask about why I know so much. Might as well tell him the truth when it does come around, right? He's just like you said, though a bit more apprehensive with people. I think you scared him off. But I can tell he wants to see you. He'll come around. He still loves you."


	5. Mama

Thunder still lingered in the muggy air flowing through the streets of Tree Gap. Once again Jesse had opted for the silence of the town to the growl of his motor vehicle. He pushed up the hem of the navy hood he wore. The sweatshirt was years worn and a constant reminder of the semester he had once attended at Yale University. The streets were misted with sprinkles of water as thunder rolled once more. Up ahead Jesse spotted a figure clad in white. His heart started at the sight, but only settled when the figure turned to be Michelle.

A smile a mile wide appeared on her face as he gained ground on the house, "Hey! You ready for a bit of a hike?"

"A hike? That's why I'm here?"

Michelle gave a nod, "Yes. Now, if we don't hurry, we'll miss it."

She grabbed a handful of his sweatshirt sleeve and tugged him along behind. The sidewalk ended in a broken slope toward the highway a little way's down. Weeds were tall and green, and sprouting up through the cracks and over the edges of the road. There was not a soul on the road. Jesse remembered the path by which the road waved, it was the same path the cattle of the wood had walked many years even before the Fosters' claimed land. Here the trees were thick and abnormally tall, with green bushing from the limbs stories above. He barely noticed when Michelle let go of his arm. It took him more than a moment of trudging along to realize it was too quiet for two people to be walking alongside each other. He turned back to the tree line with a crease between his grey eyes.

"Michelle?" he took a step off the road to the trees, leaving behind patterned prints in the thick dirt. He palmed tree bark as he peered into the green haze of the wood, "Michelle?"

Jesse stepped further into the dense mug of the wood. He did not see where the girl Foster had gone. A twig snapped beneath his shoe, and he recognized the worn path hidden beneath dead leaves. His head jerked up at the slight noise of splash not far off, and he broke into a run to reach the cliff, his hood falling in the rush. As he sped past the Birch and Willow and leapt over rotting logs, a presence in the wood took him over and it was as if he had never left their home outside of Tree Gap. The actions he took were all memory of the muscle. He darted through the last feet of shrubbery to tip-toe to a stop at the sight of the cliff face standing before him. He knew what was on the other side of the rock. His fingers and toes found the familiar nicks missing from the face, and pulled himself up. Sweat beads formed at his hairline and behind his ears. With one last pull the flat head of the cliff came to view and he pushed himself to stand.

"What took you so long?!"

He gazed down below into the water pool. The waterfall had long fell to a mere trickle, as the river had dried out a bit the summers before. It was no secret, the look of relief on Jesse's face, "You shouldn't be down there! It can't be safe!"

She laughed and pushed off from the shallow edge of the pond, keeping her shoulders exposed to the day air. The water was dark, but her pale skin shone against the green backdrop. Jesse made his way carefully down the nature-made steps to a lower level, it was from here she had jumped. Her white tank-top, washed-out jeans were thrown in a pile over her shoes. Michelle was in her underwear. Michelle's undergarments weren't anything near as conservative as Winnie's had been. She showed so much skin. Jesse watched as her arms and feet slipped through the water as she float on her back, her eyes closed to the gray sky.

"Come on, you'll catch a cold."

Michelle smiled and stuck her tongue out in playful manner before diving under the water. A bubble popped on the surface. Jesse waited for her to resurface. A minute passed, no sign. His heart began to race the longer she stayed underwater. She did not come up.

"Michelle?!" she did not answer. In one swift movement Jesse tugged off his sweatshirt and shoes, to dive into the cold water. He pushed his way as quickly as he could through the liquid glass. His eyes scoured the bottom of the pool for her body. There, she was swimming to him. He took her by the wrist and launched her to the surface for air. The calm water broke and the gasping couple cleared their eyes and throats of the water. Jesse held on to Michelle's shoulders, supporting her as they backed to the stone ledge. The rain had started up again, searing their skin. Jesse hopped up to the ledge first and quickly hoisted Michelle up to join him. She grabbed her clothes and slipped her shoes on in unison with Jesse before running hand in hand to the shelter of the old trees.

Both were shaking with adrenaline as Jesse pulled off his soaked t-shirt and Michelle pulled on her dry tank-top and jeans. Jesse's hair was slick and all Michelle's did was curl. Michelle sat on a large stone catching her breath as Jesse wrung out his shirt. She watched him as he moved to flop on a log. This stirred up a jumble of smells, such as the gritty scent of the dirt, the musk of the mushrooms, and the dust of the pollen. She closed her eyes in the fire of a shiver. Jesse noticed the way her shirt had absorbed the water around her breasts and her stomach, sticking to her skin. He offered her his sweatshirt to cover up with.

"Such a gentleman." she pulled her arms through the sleeves and her head through the oversized neck. She pushed the hood back and began combing her tangles with her fingers. Not much caring to notice the stark look in his eyes.

"You could have died."

"No, I couldn't have," she glanced to his eyes, noticing the small reaction in his face, "Besides, you were there to save me."

The rain pattered in the treetop, and drizzled down to the forest floor. Jesse stared at her. She had just said she _couldn't_ have died, not that she _wouldn't_ have. He stood and pulled her to her feet, never minding her protests. The trail the Tucks had blazed through the wood was still faint. He followed along the narrow path to a large Oak tree, larger than any other in the forest. In its bark was carved the letter T, now blackened with age. Michelle grew quiet when he said nothing to her questions. Jesse let go of her arm and went to the tree, running a finger over the letter.

Michelle was beside him, an hand on his shoulder. She spoke with her eyes downcast, beads of pond water still sitting atop her lashes, "Mama said I was stuck like a Tuck. That's what she called it."

Jesse turned to her ever so cautiously, "Mama?"

Michelle licked her lips and looked to his baby-face, "I _am_ a Foster."

Just then an orange glow lit the sky, following pink and purple clouds; sunrise. The beauty was quickly covered by the rain and thunder, and turned to another dreary day.


	6. 1970

"Mama...Winnie, always told us the spring was poisoned; ever since we were little," Michelle picked up a fallen stick from the leafy ground and dusted it off, "She said 'if you drink from that spring you will cease to exist in this life and the next'. Mama always had a way with words."

Jesse and the girl were walking the Tuck trail. Michelle was in front, leading him through the windings he once knew well. It was as if he had never been there, and she was to guide him. She twirled the stick in her hand, an obvious talent. She turned to walk backwards, "You can guess what I did."

His brow creased, "What made you drink it?"

A look of anger took her soft jaw in a grip and she stopped suddenly, sure to jab the stick at him to stop as well, "If I tell you, you can't laugh."

He held his hands up in surrender, "Promise."

Michelle huffed and let her anger melt away, "It was a suicide attempt."

Jesse's face froze in surprise. That was something he had not expected. Michelle struck a near by tree trunk with her staff before continuing, "We received a letter from the U.S. Army, my brother Robert had been killed in battle- we didn't have an inkling as to where Michael was. My father was struggling to find a job. Winnie was severely depressed, even her money couldn't keep us to high afloat. She began work in a factory, building bomber planes. Emile was sent to England as an Air Force engineer. For a long time it was just Mama and me.

"June sixteenth, nineteen-forty-three; we received news that my father had been wounded in a bombing, and my second brother, Samuel, had been wounded as well. Samuel was blinded by the Mustard Gas. Mama... Mama didn't cry. But, she wasn't herself." Jesse had stopped walking to listen to her, and she had kept on shuffling forward; her voice was touched with melancholy. She stopped then and tossed the stick into a wild shrub. Michelle didn't say anything else.

* * *

The local library housed reels of news paper scans from the past decades. The librarian running the afternoon shift was a green eyed woman with flittering white hair. Jesse was escorted to the backroom with the light box. The old woman switched on the box's bulb and by the dim light pulled two reels from a metal shelf. Jesse sat in the cushioned chair as she explained how the reel worked, and not to touch the film itself. A twinkle set in her eyes and her wrinkled lips broke into a smile, "I know you. You're a Tuck."

Jesse flicked his gaze from the light box to the woman, "I'm a what?"

She laughed and slapped at his shoulder, "Don't play that game, boy. I'm an old hoot and I know who you are. I remember the stories my mother told about how Mae Tuck killed that salesman, and then all of your clan disappeared. You can't fool me. And that Foster girl, Winifred. Such a lovely one. It's been two years now, yes?" she crossed the room and turned before exiting, "And what you're looking for won't be in the nineteen-forty-three papers. That Miss Foster-Jackson didn't die here. Went off to the city, never came back. I'd check nineteen-seventy, New York Times. It's the only reel of its kind here."

The wisp of a woman left the boy in the dark room. Jesse skimmed over the nineteen-forty-three reel to find nothing important. The second reel, nineteen-twenty-five, only reported the birth of the first female Foster since Winnie herself- Michelle. Jesse wound the reel back and placed the film back in its tin. A thought came to mind; the nineteen-seventy New York Times issue was unreleased to the general public. The tin was marked and easy to find upon the shelves. Jesse set the reel up and twisted his way through the pages until he came upon an exposé on a young group of college radicals. The leader of the group was a Millie Platt, her picture was on the first page of the story, the head liner. She was hoisted upon a fellow member's shoulders, free as a bird. Her long hair was pushed behind her ears, her eyes sparkled, her smile as bright as could be, and her arms slung wide with her bare chest thrust forward. Jesse's eyes lingered upon her breasts and traveled to the small cross around her neck, to the purest look of happiness set on her cheeks.

The article read that Millie Platt was a feminist and civil rights activist. She had been plenty riled up over the assassination of Reverend Martin Luther King, and quite a powerhouse of strength in the fight for equality. Another picture surfaced of her bare chested wearing an olive soldier's jacket, the very same which had been a good friend's during the Vietnam war. She led her troops to victory with picketing and silent sit-ins. She was written as quite a charming girl. In nineteen-seventy, two months before the article was to run, Millie Platt mysteriously vanished. The public had their conspiracy theories, and others thought she had fallen dead-as-a-doornail into a backwoods ditch, no foul play. Jesse's heart raced the more he read, with the multiple pictures of the tanned girl and the smile he knew fairly well. Millie Platt had resurfaced nearly thirty-two years later in the small town of Tree Gap, completely breathing.


	7. J Birmingham

The green phone in the inn manager's office rang insistently that evening. The voice on the other end asked for a J. Birmingham. The manager walked the quiet hall to room number twenty-three and knocked softly on the wood door, "There's a phone call for you, kid. A Miles Birmingham; says he's your brother."

Jesse followed the short elderly man to the office and thanked him as the man left him to the plastic receiver, "Hello?"

"_Havin' a nice time, Jesse?_"

"As nice as it could be, Miles," Jesse cupped his hand over the receiver and turned from the cracked open door, "She didn't drink it."

Miles' gruff voice was silent on the other end, and finally sighed in what seemed relief, "_Good girl._"

Jesse rapped his knuckles on the wooden desktop, "She has a daughter."

"_Oh, good Lord, Jess!_"

"No, no, no!" Jesse checked his volume, "She's not an old busybody. She's like us Miles!"

"_You mean... _how_?_"

"I know. It's complicated, but she's the real thing. Just like us. Can you believe it?!"

Thousands of miles away a man of his early twenties was slumped against an aging wall of the local bar. His coat was wet with the night rain, and his eyes as sorrowful as those of a wounded animal, "Small world, ain't it?"

* * *

"Perpetually seventeen, huh? Doesn't seem like a horrible trade."

"How old are you?"

"Perpetually eighteen."

Jesse walked beside Michelle down the paved sidewalk of the downtown of Tree Gap. She was slurping up the remains of a drink through a plastic straw with her free hand stuck in her jean pocket. In three days her "cousin" Claire would be getting married.

"I went to the library this morning, for a weekly check, and I noticed someone had been looking at the news reels. The nineteen-seventy reel, to be specific," she glanced up at Jesse, "Like what you see?"

Bright pink painted his cheeks when she addressed him, "It was interesting. I never would have thought you were a radical. Why did you disappear?"

"The government started noticing how I always seemed to come out of attempted assassinations unscathed. Had to pull a Hoffa, respectively."

"So what's it like to have someone aside from your family and Winnie knowing about the spring?" Michelle asked.

"Well, how do _you_ do it?"

" A lot of the older population know about me. The younger ones aren't interested unless it involves their personal lives. It's still a small town Jesse, but not the hub it used to be. Not many here are looking to fame and fortune. It's plenty safe."

Michelle took Jesse's arm in her own two and leant her head in his shoulder. She didn't seem inhibited in any way with the way she acted with Jesse, and the thirty year old nude pictures. Jesse had no doubt she had been rather loved in the Adult community. He didn't ever think she was embarrassed. She was always on the ledge, ready to jump at anything. Jesse took a breath and let it out slowly, "I'm leaving tonight. Goin' back home for a little bit."

She lifted her head at his words, "You'll come back, right? Winnie would like that."

"Of course. As long as I can." Did she not expect him to see her?

Michelle laughed in a short huff, "I was hoping you'd be able to come to the wedding, but you do what you need to do. I can't stop a Tuck."

Jesse smiled and loosened his arm from her grip, only to embrace her tightly. She was very much like Winnie Foster. Like mother, like daughter, "You are an amazing girl, Michelle Foster."

* * *

Miles Tuck was waiting in the small lobby of the Tree Gap Inn, wringing his hands. Hours before he had conversed with his brother, yet not with his mother or father. He stared intently at the curlicues in the red and gold carpet, tracing patterns of elephants and deer. At the sound of an opening door, he jerked his head in the same direction to see his younger brother step through in a daze. Miles stood quickly, clenching and unclenching his hands. Jesse closed the door behind himself at the sight of his brother.

"Hey Miles. When d'you get in?"


	8. Brother Tuck

The simple ding of the doorbell beckoned Michelle to the front door of her home. The knob was cool in her hand as she twisted the door open, smiling at the friendly face on the other side. The man wore his dark hair cropped and a brown leather coat, from which the summer heat had not deterred him. He wet his lips before speaking, "Are you Michelle Jackson?"

"Yes," the girl nodded, "Can I help you?"

The man took a step toward the open door, his hand pulled from his coat pocket in a gesture of greetings, "I'm Miles. You've met my brother, Jesse."

Michelle took his hand in a strong squeeze, "Yes, quite a character. So, you're the infamous brother Tuck. It's good to meet you. Come in."

Miles stepped into the home, grazing the girl's body as he did so. His eyes took in the sight of the old home. The furniture was antique, as were the patterns of wallpaper. His boots clunked on the wooden boards of the entry. Michelle closed the door behind him and watched him closely. His eyes rested on a large box filled with white cards and tulle pouches of candies.

"There's a wedding in three days."

"Yours?"

"No. My cousin's. I was hoping Jesse would come, but I guess not." Michelle glanced around as Miles wandered the hall, "Not to seem rude, but why are you here?"

Miles turned with a smile on his face, very charming, "I wanted to know if it was true. Your _condition_."

Michelle smiled and ducked into a lit room further into the house. When she returned she quickly took Miles's large hand in her own small one and forcefully pulled him through the front door into the muggy night. Without a word the girl kept her hand locked around his and kept pulling him toward the darkened edge of the yard where Winnie was buried. She slowed to a stop not letting her grip ease. Miles watched her glaring down at the grave site.

"Did Jesse tell you how it happened? How stupid I was?" Her voice was thick. Miles didn't answer.

"She was right. It was poison; _is_ poison. I've lived here for years, Miles. You can't doubt what I am; who I am. I can show you, if you want. The highway isn't busy now, but it will be later."

She loosened her grip and he stuck his now clammy hand into his pocket, "Were you an actress too?"

Michelle smiled coyly and bit down on her lip, "Nineteen-fifties."

Miles's mouth was set in a frown as he looked down on the engraved headstone, "We've been doin' this a lot longer than you have, Miss Jackson. There's no way a person like us can be in the public's eye as frequently as you say you've been. It's impossible. You're either insane, or a fake."

Michelle tucked her hair behind her ears and smacked away a mosquito from her arm. She sighed and held her hand out toward the man, "Do you have a pocket knife?"

Miles gruffly pulled a bulky fold of metal from his back pocket and placed it in her upturned hand. She weighed the blade a moment and flicked it open, sitting as she did so. Miles sat next to her on the cool grass, watching her every move. She pressed the edge of the blade to the thin skin of her wrist, "What will you if I bleed to death?"

The blade sank into her skin and she winced at the slight twinge of pain as her artery was severed. Blood seeped up from the wound, staining the blade and the grass. Miles grabbed the knife from her hand and flung it down. He pulled her arm straight and pressed the hem of his knit shirt to the cut. The blood flowed freely and soaked easily through the thin fabric, slick on his fingers. His heart was racing in panic as he saw her eyes flicker shut, "You're insane!"

Michelle giggled and swooned from the loss, "I'm fine, Miles. Look."

She pushed the shirt away to reveal her arm. He was amazed. His fingers swiped away the blood, smearing it over her skin, in search of the open wound. Not even a puckered scar was left. He glanced from her wrist to her ever vigilant eyes. Beads of sweat had gathered at the nape of his neck and his hairline, "This is insane."

"_Yeah, it is_."


	9. Crazy Me

Claire stood in the shadow of the house, her face briefly lit by the lighter in her hand. She puffed on her cigarette and slowly moved toward Miles and Michelle. Miles grabbed the knife and flicked it closed to place in his pocket before taking Michelle's arm and pulling her up.

"You can't stay you know, Michelle? You bring a lot of bad karma and pressure on the family." Claire sucked on her tobacco and fluffed her red curls.

Michelle stepped up to Claire, very aware of the close gaze from Miles, "What is that supposed to mean Claire?"

The twenty-something bride-to-be smiled and sucked on her cigarette once again, "It means, little Michelle, that dear Granny isn't here to protect you anymore. There is absolutely no way you can keep up the act," Claire scanned Miles, "And your friends don't and won't help you."

Michelle glanced back at Miles and then forward to her cousin. She pulled the cigarette from Claire's lips and stamped it out in her own palm, "Don't try to scare me, Claire. You're just a kid wants all the control."

Miles nodded to the glaring Claire Jackson before following behind Michelle. Claire went back to the house as soon as they were out of sight. Under the glow of the yellow street lamp Michelle slammed her fists against the brick wall of the ice cream shop. Miles slowed in front of her as she flopped against the wall and slid to the ground with her head in her hands. She clawed fists full of her hair and scratched her throat with a muffled yell. Miles kneeled down before her, uncertain of what to do. She slowly scrubbed at her face and gave a limp sigh, "Stop staring Miles."

He didn't know what was happening. Her moods switched quickly, and something told him this wasn't about Claire Jackson. He couldn't be angry with her or her fatal choice. Instead he sat down next to her and propped his arms on his knees. She sat back in the same position with her head against the wall, her eyes lowered.

"I can't stay here. I've been so paranoid since Mama died. I can't keep it up by myself. I'm going crazy without her," Michelle rocked herself to her feet and looked down and across the street at the dimly lit house, "She never prepared me for her _not_ being here."

Jesse sat on the front steps of the inn, staring out into the dark. A squeak of wood came from his right. He looked up he met the smile of Michelle. He smiled in return as she walked the squeaking boards and sat next to him. She didn't say a word.

"Did I miss something?" Jesse asked. Michelle's smile stretched as she laughed, "Where's Miles?"

"He's heading back to Montana. Just like you should be."

"I thought he'd come back here first," a look of confusion crossed his face, "Why are you here?"

"I'm coming with you after I run an errand."

Jesse turned to her fully, "What?! Are you sure?"

Michelle tugged him up off the steps; with the momentum she spun them around twice, and then pulled him close. Jesse placed his chin on top of her head as she pressed her forehead to his chest. She smelled like sun and wind, and he smelled like nature. The crickets chirped in the brush, bot daring to move near the ring of light shadowing the two embracing.

Jesse pulled back to look Michelle in the eye, "Is this what you want?"

She bit back a smile, "Is it what _you_ want?"


	10. Leaving

Her bare feet flattened the dewy grass. The night had peaked to early morning, with only a few hours until sunrise. In several hours time a wedding would begin, as a new chapter in the lives of the Fosters. She had hauled herself over the fence and was now pushing up the window of her room, Winnie's room.

Once inside the white house she scanned the bookshelves for frames of pictures which she quickly pulled from the silver and gold borders. After pocketing the photos she picked Winnie's sketch books from the shelves. She found one specific volume and took revenge on the rest by ripping the pages from the bindings and tearing them to shreds.

Michelle went to the wardrobe and pulled out a small olive duffle, which had once been military issue. Inside she stuffed a mixed change of clothing and placed a small journal and the sketch book right on top, then zipped it closed.

She crept into the hallway. All the doors were closed, indicating Mr Sandman had done his deed. She tip-toed to the line of photos on the wall that chronicled her last seventy-six years. She pulled them carefully from the walls and stacked them together on the hall table next to the land line.

The house creaked under her and Michelle's eyes shot to the door of Claire's room. An orange glow flickered in the room. Michelle pushed the door open slowly, revealing the candle on the fireplace mantel, flicking shadows across Claire and her blond fiancé's faces. Michelle's eyes wandered to the candle. Burning the evidence would be much easier than shredding it all.

"I'll start it up once we're down the road," Jesse lead his motorcycle down the side of Mainstreet with Michelle at his side, clutching her duffle to her chest. She had been quiet since they had left the Foster grounds. He glanced every once-in-a-while at her as he pushed the bike along. She walked with her eyes watching the road ahead, not a bit of happiness in her face.

Jesse stopped and kicked the stand into place, "We can start it now," he placed one hand on the bars and the other on the seat, "Are you sure about this?"

Michelle pulled the duffle strap over her head and pushed her hair behind her ears, "I'm starting to think I should have burned it down. How can I leave Mama?"

Jesse passed her his helmet, "We'll come back." He swung onto the bike, kicking the stand up, and turning the engine. She shoved the helmet on and swung on behind him. Her brown boots rested on the pegs and her hands on his waist, as his gripped the throttle and break. The bike lurched from the dirt edge of the road and sped up to the center of the lane. As their speed increased her grip tightened, causing a small smile to cross Jesse's face. The wind whipped his hair and dried his eyes, but he was happy as a lark.

The headlight of the bike lit the curved roadway. Michelle watched the world whizz by. The black sky turned to a deep blue and spun to a light pink soon after. The trees grew from a menacing green drenched in shadow, to a golden yellow. Her cheeks and lips were sore from smiling beneath the helmet, and she leant as close to Jesse as she could. The tires of the bike rolled around another bend, whipping up leaves and blades of grass. She could see the early rising deer prancing through the trees. She was amazed by just how close they came to the road.


	11. Little Sparrow

Birds sang sweet songs in the warmth of the morning. A nest of sparrows hopped from branch to branch in the tall birch. It's black eyes searching the curious scene below. The feathers ruffled in a slight breeze and the bird sprung from the branch, gliding to the ground to inspect the broken pieces of China scattered on the asphalt, next to a cracked red helmet and a busted duffle with broken strap.

The little sparrow pecked at the China and marveled at its reflection in the helmet's visor. A moth fluttered by, taking the bird's attention. It hopped after the bug, but was soon consumed by another movement in the leaves beside the road and under the trees.

Their clothes and skin were wet with sweat. Dirt clung to blots of blood spotting their brows, chins, and hands. Her legs were bent at an odd angle, so he tugged them to their rightful place and pulled him self to a sitting position. His back was sore from the impact, and his ears were still ringing.

"Michelle, are you okay?"

"Don't yell, Jess."

Jesse Tuck wiped away the dried blood from her face with the hem of his shirt. The heat of summer had rose high before the sun had completely risen itself, and now the mug was nearly unbearable. Michelle opened her eyes and brought her hands to her head, checking she had healed. Jesse helped her up and the sat back against the tree trunk, their gaze falling on the doe sprawled out on the other side of the road.

"The plate's broken." she stated. She crawled to a squatting position and held herself on her hands and knees, looking over the mess. Jesse stood and picked up the helmet, looking over the crack from the visor to the base.

"Sometimes, there's a beauty in this."

Michelle stood up beside him and he tossed the helmet back to the ground. The air was sweet and bright and lingered on skin and twined in hair. The little sparrow fluttered up to the treetops as the helmet bounced toward it. Jesse put an arm around her shoulder, and Michelle leaned into him. Their was a Tuck and a Foster, both with nearly identical life patterns. Both able to stay together for as long as possible. Winnie Foster and Jesse Foster had loved each other, despite the age difference, and despite the man in the yellow suit.

One hundred years had passed, and yet together here were two people stuck like rocks in the bend of a river. Two people who were each dearly special to the other. Two people who were links to different worlds, and who had both thought the universe of Winnie Foster.


End file.
